Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe

Ah, the days of waking up at six o’clock on a Saturday morning, rushing through your chores, just so you could get your Saturday morning cartoon fix (like the X-Men and Gummy Bears!) and make it out the door by noon to play with your friends. Everyone would meet at that one central place, whether it be a friend’s backyard or the local playground, and we would get there by any means necessary, even if it meant hopping a few fences in someone’s backyard. The first order of business usually consisted of counting out how much change everyone had, so we could stock up on Now and Laters, Mike and Ikes, penny candy, and quarter waters from the bodega. Once we had that morning sugar rush situated, it was time to get down to the real reason we all came together: to engage in a day of fun that wouldn’t end until the sun started to make its descent.

Fence Hopping

Saturday mornings, especially during the summer, were the best time of the year (at least to me!). Barbeques, playing in the fire hydrants, and ten-cent icys from the lady that lived on the corner were the highlights, but what kept us going were the outdoor games we played. Coming from the era that didn’t have iPods, cell phones, or social networking, we had to figure out how to entertain ourselves. I remember my two favorite games being hide and seek (I know some people remember “hide and go get” when you got older, a game that made some of the hot-in-the-pants girls WANT to get caught) and the many variations of tag. There was regular old tag, which consisted of the “It” person chasing everyone until they became the chaser; freeze tag, which rendered you immobile and helpless if you were tagged, until a friend came and touched you to rescue you from your frozen state; and t.v. tag, which required you to scream out the name of a t.v. show when the tagger came in for the kill.

Children Playing Tag

There were a couple of ways that someone would become it. Sometimes, it would just be the person we liked least in the group, the annoying kid brother or sister, or the last person to yell out “Not It!”. Most times though, we had to figure out a fair, democratic way to make a decision, so in came the sophisticated selection processes. You may know them as “eeny meeny miny moe”, “rock paper scissors”, and “bubble gum, bubble game, in a dish”. Through this highly proven scientific process, we were able to determine who would be the first sap to endure the daunting task of being “It”.

Who's It?

There came a point in the day, though, when we were all pretty much sick of chasing and being chased. Usually around mid-afternoon, the guys and girls would split off into their respective groups, to enjoy their gender-biased games. The girls would usually play double-dutch (with telephone wires – the BEST jump ropes around), or hand games, like Numbers, Hands up to 85 (I know that’s not the right name), and Rockin’ Robbin. The guys would engage in playful banter, with the Dozens and Ya Mama, Suicide (or Fireball, depending on where you’re from), and maybe a little crate ball in the street.

Double Dutchers

At the end of the day, tired of running around all day (which most kids these days would know NOTHING about), we would all sit down together, finish off the rest of our candy, and play games that required more mental focus, like Simon Says, Red Light Green Light, and Truth or Dare. Dusk would commence, and when that occurred, we knew it was time to say our good-byes for the day. Because if you weren’t home before the light poles lit up, you would have hell to pay.

Street Lights at Dusk

Although those days are long gone, there’s a part of me that yearns for that simplicity, the ease of a young, carefree life. A life where our biggest concerns weren’t focused on the bills we had to pay, the marriages and serious relationships we had to sustain, or our careers, but on whether or not someone had really been tagged and was now “It”. Even with all of the technology of today, I wouldn’t trade my memories for any of it. I’d rather reminisce about the fun we all had, just being kids.

(Shouts to @A_Double_U , editor extraordinaire, for his edits…on point, as always!)

My City (or, Coming From Where I’m From)

Hartford
…coming from where I’m from, I’m from…

My city isn’t like your city. It isn’t a booming metropolis, a cultural hub, or filled with a wealth of architectural wonders. It’s filled with crime, poverty, unemployment, and often times, harbors smells of desperation and despair. It’s located in one of the richest states in the country, but the disparity between those who have and have not is vast. In my city, many of my former classmates are felons, drug addicts, or unmotivated individuals with no drive or purpose. Even the lyrics Biggie Smalls spat don’t hold true for this community (cuz the streets is a short stop, either you sling a crack rock or you got a wicked jump shot), because the chances of anyone having a wicked jump shot are far and few between, and at most, hand to hand is as high as they would get on the corporate street ladder.

B.I.G.

...cuz the streets is a short stop, you either sling a crack rock or you got a wicked jump shot...

Even amidst all of this negativity though, I, and others like me, managed to find a bright spot. We held on to two important elements that were hidden in the trenches, elements we had to search diligently for: hope and motivation. The majority of us city kids grew up with nothing – in the projects, section 8 housing, and shopping at C-Town with our paper food stamps. It is so easy to follow the lead of those before you, who never sought to aim higher. We could have easily been led into complacency  -because, if that’s all we know, then that’s all there is, right?

Westbrook

The PJs

But no. For some reason, the folk in my generation determined that there was a way to pull ourselves out of the abyss of apathy. We decided that education was the ticket to our release from the confines of the stoop, the allure of the street corner. Even through adversity – pregnant barely past our teens, lack of sufficient income, crabs in a barrel attempting to pull us down from every side, we still managed to succeed (still I rise!). My generation, my peers, consist of lawyers, doctors, artists, entrepreneurs, professionals. We saw adversity as a challenge, not a hindrance or a reason for us to give up. We’ve shattered the plexiglass ceiling of the place we called the ghetto, with our adjustable ladders of steel. Those ladders don’t have a limit to their extensions, and have allowed us to continuously build and progress.

Crabs in a Barrel

...crabs in a barrel theory, hear me creep, it's a mutha****** war in these streets...

It’s difficult sometimes, to drive back through my old ‘hood, and see the seemingly lack of progression. It can be frightening, to see the same listless eyes, even though they watch through different faces. That drive can make you feel hopeless, as if nothing has truly changed. Looking at those to the left and right of me though, I know that feeling could be farther from reality. I’ve seen hard work, I’ve seen the strive for change, and I’ve seen the success that can occur when the two are coupled together. My city isn’t like your city – we don’t have its sexiness, nor do we have its allure. Nonetheless, my pride in what we do have – people with the want, the drive, the need to rise- is relentless. So I’m glad my city isn’t like yours; if it were, it would have never created the experiences that gave birth to people like me.

Nike, Greek Goddess of War

...still I RISE!

“Cuffing Common Sense” By: @Mike_2pt0

To tide you all over until tomorrow’s post, I’ve included a link to one of my colleagues, @Mike_2pt0 ’s awesome take on the art of “cuffing”.  Every one in the dating game should take note and implement, if you haven’t already. If you don’t know…now you know!!!!

“Cuffing Common Sense” By: @Mike_2pt0.

Multi-Racial Misfit

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